The sun was shining as we docked in Ancona, the cathedral standing proudly in the bright morning rays on the hill above the town. I got through border control, surprised I hadn’t been deported, and said goodbye to Maxim, then wheeled my boat along the Italian pavements until I reached a slipway where I could launch my boat, a routine that daunted me once but feels quite familiar now. I readied my boat next to the Mole Vanvitelliana, an 18th-century pentagonal building constructed on an island, once used to quarantine potentially infected people and goods, like me, arriving in the port. My friends in Bari, Mimmo and Antonio, had helpfully arranged for me to stay in a rowing club, VVF Maggi, in Ancona while I waited for my wonderful mother to drive out and bring me and the boat back home, and I was heading there now.

As I changed into my horrible wet kit for the short paddle around the port to the club, Germano turned up. One of the guys from the VVF Maggi, he didn’t speak a word of English, so he called Angela, a girl my age who was a marine biologist and a rowing coach from the club who drove over to give me directions.

When I arrived I was welcomed to make myself at home and have a shower. The Italian warmth and kindness is so very endearing. Mum called and I was happy to hear that my sister Isobel would be joining her for the road trip, it would be far more safe and fun that way. They wouldn’t be arriving until Friday, giving me five days to wait in Ancona, or five days to see how far I could paddle. Looking at the map, Venice immediately jumped out and became a goal. It was 300 kilometers away so wouldn’t be easy to get to, but I decided I’d regret it if I didn’t try.

I’d only been at VVF Maggi for about an hour, and Angela was pretty surprised when I told her I was getting back on the water already. Two old boys watched me pack up, repeatedly exclaiming “complimenti, bravissimo”, amazed I was setting off for Venice. They bought me a sandwich for lunch and one of them even insisted he give me twenty euros, which I donated to Action4Diabetes.

The coastline was uninspiring, a corridor of roads and train lines through a sprawl of run-down beach resorts and industrial complexes, but the patchwork of green fields rolling over the hills beyond and the reliable passing of trains made me feel closer to home and I was happy to be back in Italy.

I had only decided to stop in Split when I arrived there, so I didn’t get a chance to reflect on the adventure with that heightened sense of appreciation you only get when you know something is about to end. The last few mouthfuls of a pudding, the last few pages of a book, the last few days with a loved one – nothing lasts forever but we often don’t live with that in mind. Anyway, now it was really quite cold, I was paddling hard just to generate body heat and my hands were chilled red, but I savored every paddle stroke and reflected on the trip, knowing now that I only had a few days left.

It hit me that although there’s no doubt I’ll have other adventures, none will be quite the same as this one, because even since this trip started I have changed, and I’ll be a different person when I set out on the next adventure. I felt sad that this adventure was coming to an end, but at the same time, I’m ready to move on, to start the next projects. I haven’t been forced to stop, I could continue this adventure with warmer kit or wait until summer. No, I’ve chosen to stop, I’m ready to move on, to start the next projects. On that ferry journey it felt like everything came together, like I’d found what I’ve been searching for, whatever that is, even if I’ve only come to believe a reality constructed in my head, I have arrived there.

I kept pushing into the darkness, sheltered behind a row of breakwaters, Venice on my mind, and reached the town of Fano. On the other side of the harbor I landed on the beach and left my boat in a fenced enclosure next to some sailing dinghies. Now it was time to get into dry clothes as quickly as possible before the cold caught up with me.

I walked into the town and bought a pizza and arancini, and stood in the warmth of the shop watching them cook it in a big red brick oven. There was no seating in the pizzeria so I had to eat it outside, but those hot, cheesy slices warmed me up all the same. I then went to a grocery shop and bought some apples and a beautiful bunch of celery. The shopkeeper asked where I was from and I told him about my trip. “Mamma Mia! Here, a present for you, cioccolato”, he gave me a warm handshake and a jar of chocolate spread and I walked out, smiling at how friendly the Italians are.

I was walking around seeing what else was happening in town, gnawing on a stick of celery, when I saw a lady in a navy blue jacket with badges on the sleeves stopped in the street looking at me funny. At first I thought she was a policewoman and I was about to get questioned for looking like a vagrant, but then she said “Are you Dougal?”.

Vojo, who I’d stayed with in Kotor, Montenegro, had texted me earlier to say his friend Ljilja lived in Fano, where I’d turned up by chance, and if I needed anything, to give her a call. It was seven o’clock by the time I’d eaten my pizza, so I didn’t bother, but when this lady said my name, I instantly knew it must be Ljilja.

Sure enough, it was Ljilja, and she kindly invited me back to her house for the night. The air was freezing by now and she didn’t have to ask me twice! Like Vojo, Ljilja had worked on container ships for many years and lived between Italy and Montenegro, where she was from. It was such a great coincidence that I ended up staying the night with Vojo’s neighbor and I had a lovely evening, thank you Ljilja!